


Voyeur

by Heather



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Graphic Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-28
Updated: 2007-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather/pseuds/Heather





	Voyeur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neuroticsquid](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=neuroticsquid).



  
You had to wonder sometimes how the man could bring himself up every night, Claude observed to himself from Sandra and Noah Bennet's bedroom easy chair.

Little Claire was now fast approaching her third birthday, and the Bennets were hard at work to give her a brother or sister. Sandra had tried to broach the subject of adopting once more with Noah at the dinner table a few days past, and Claude had been amused at Bennet's--to his wife--inexplicable refusal to go that route again. Claude supposed that Bennet had enough conscience issues on his plate without adding another child he'd have to watch for the Company to the list. Besides, it'd probably be pushing his luck to have another one drop into his lap the way Claire had. No one knew how many of Them there were, after all, or who They might be connected to, and taking babies off Them was the kind of thing concerned relatives were eventually bound to notice.

Sandra turned her head and bit into her pillow to keep from screaming out and waking Claire as Bennet's fists clamped into the sheets and he pounded into her with vigor Claude would've been surprised by in a younger man. Who'd have guessed this kind of thing was in old Noah? Claude leaned forward with some interest as he watched sweat bead along Bennet's forehead, trickling along the bridge of his nose before taking the suicide drop Claude hadn't made off the overpass onto the delicious swell of Sandra's breasts. Bennet's head followed the droplets' path and he buried his face into her cleavage, one hand releasing the sheets to clutch desperately at her breast, fingers circling the nipple before his tongue darted out to trace out the same pattern.

Claude watched as Sandra's legs swung up and over her husband's shoulders for the more exquisite angle it provided and felt wrenched with a sudden, almost visceral sense of memory: another room, another bed, nightmares wet with human blood, and first a pair of hands, then a pair of lips, (_Bennet's hands, Bennet's lips_) providing Claude with the only comfort they knew how.

Unself-consciously--bordering, in fact, on completely bloody unconsciously--Claude let his hand drop into his lap, parting the fly of his trousers and finding himself a rhythm.


End file.
